


And Never Stop Fighting

by adverbally



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adverbally/pseuds/adverbally
Summary: Because whenever you think or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.Jack is concerned about Phryne following the events of “King Memses’ Curse” and tries to comfort her after her birthday party.





	And Never Stop Fighting

**Author's Note:**

> I was having a hell of a time coming up with anything for the quote challenge until I looked up the context for each of the prompts. I found that this prompt was followed by this sentence: "To be nobody-but-yourself — in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else — means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting." It struck me as so Phryne, and I ran with it, hopefully to a not-super-terrible end result. (Next month I will try to be more creative, I swear!)

Phryne’s parlor feels eerily quiet in the wake of the raucous joy of her birthday party. The celebration had wound down hours ago, guests trickling out of Wardlow as the evening wore on. Jane has long since been sent to bed, and even Dot and Mr. Butler have already tidied up and retired for the night. 

Jack is alone with Phryne at last, and he can see how exhausted she looks. She had played her role as hostess and guest of honor with her usual aplomb, whirling about and laughing like the events of the past few days had never happened. Jack had caught only the barest glimpses of her fatigue throughout the night, though he suspects he was the only one looking closely enough to notice. He didn't want to dwell on the way Phryne had allowed her smile to relax and her eyes to dim when she met Jack's gaze across the room. 

Now, though, with her shoes and wrap discarded and a cup of tea in her hands as she sits with her legs curled up on the chaise beside her, Phryne worries him. She seems fragile in a way Jack has never seen her. He can't put his finger on it, exactly. It's not her smudged eye makeup or her state of undress, but maybe something in the tension of her mouth as she speaks or the way her finger taps relentlessly on the porcelain of her teacup. 

“Miss Fisher,” Jack says softly. He realizes too late that he's cut her off mid-sentence, but the way she looks up at him, startled, suggests she was hardly aware that she was talking. 

Having interrupted, he realizes he doesn't know what else to say. _Are you alright?_ is almost insulting when she so obviously isn't. _What can I do?_ takes a liberty he's always tried to avoid with her, presumes that he's wanted and needed and useful to her. _I'm sorry_ is a gross understatement. 

Phryne must be aware that he's seen something she hadn't meant to let him see. Her face shifts to present him with a bright smile. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you so late. Thank you for being my captive audience.” She keeps her voice light and her gratitude genuine, but Jack sees right through her. 

“You don't need to pretend around me,” he tells her. It's a risk, pointing out the weakness in such a proud and independent woman as Phryne Fisher, but Jack can see that she's hurting. 

Her face falls. It's not immediate, but her smile changes into something more flat and her eyes take on a wary cast. “I don't know what you mean,” she lies. It’s clear from the way her voice rises in pitch that she knows perfectly well what Jack is saying.

“I mean that there's no need for you to go on like the perfect hostess when you and I both know you've been through hell.” It comes out a little sharper than Jack had meant it to, almost accusatory, but he knows Phryne understands when her shoulders slump. 

“What else am I supposed to do, Jack?” she asks. Her voice is soft and defeated and so unlike her that Jack’s chest feels tight. “I can't let this consume me. I have to get back to normal.”

Jack shakes his head, setting his half-drunk glass of whiskey on the mantel before he comes to perch on the edge of the chaise. “You're allowed a moment of weakness now and then.”

Phryne snorts and turns toward him, tucking her stocking-clad toes under Jack’s thigh, resting her arms on her bent knees. “I think I've had quite enough of that lately.” She must be thinking of the helpless terror of not knowing where Jane was, the paralysis induced by Foyle’s drug, the sobs she couldn't stifle at her sister’s burial site. 

Jack lays his hand across the front of Phryne's ankle in a comforting gesture, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the silk of her stocking. It's intimate but not enough to shock her, of course. He wonders what it would be like to feel bare skin under his hand instead. 

He distracts himself from his unseemly thoughts by telling her, “You're still the strongest woman I know.” The admission makes Jack’s ears warm, but he thinks she needs to hear it. 

Phryne smiles a little ruefully. “I think maybe I've had enough of that, too.” She looks up at him through her lashes for a moment before returning her focus to the cup of tea still cradled in her elegant hands. “I've tried to be so strong for so long and now I'm just tired.” She sighs and turns her head away, giving Jack a perfect view of her stunning profile. 

He doesn’t reply, lost in the rhythm of his thumb stroking back and forth over the top of her foot and lost in the spots of her lipstick clinging to the rim of her teacup and lost in his need to help her in any way he can. 

It’s terrifying how Phryne lets him see this side of her. Especially after the disaster with Foyle, Jack feels the significance of her trust in him like a physical entity, like Atlas stooped under the weight of the world. It’s an honor but it’s a responsibility he doesn’t feel confident he can handle. So Jack sits with her, afraid to say the wrong thing, until the clock strikes two in the morning. 

He can tell by the way she blinks, as if her eyelids are too heavy to move, that she had been dozing in those few minutes of silence. When she turns to look at him again, it’s with a small, bashful smile. “I hadn’t realized it was so late,” she says a little sheepishly. 

“It’s been quite the evening,” he replies diplomatically. He’s probably being more careful than he needs to at this point; Phryne already seems calmer than she had earlier. Jack isn’t narcissistic enough to believe that he’s done something special to help her, but it’s nice to think that his presence was calming in some way. As much as Phryne thrives in social situations, even she must need some peace and quiet on occasion. 

“Well,” Phryne says, rising from the chaise with a subtle stretch, “let me walk you out.”

Jack stands as well. “There’s no need for that,” he protests, but the words fall on deaf ears since Phryne is already turning and striding out of the parlor before Jack can figure out what the gesture means. He trails behind her automatically, not wanting to overstay his welcome. 

She fidgets for a moment as he gathers his coat and hat. Oddly, she seems nervous. Jack waits her out until she finally sighs and says, “I’m glad you were able to stay.” 

He smiles. “It was my pleasure, Miss Fisher.”

She opens the front door for him. “Please, call me Phryne. Just for tonight.” Her tone is light, but her eyes look sad. 

Jack nods. “Good night, Phryne.” He sits his hat atop his head as he steps over the threshold onto her front porch. 

“Good night, Jack,” she says softly, leaning against the doorframe. 

For a moment, they linger there, neither willing to end the evening. Jack almost leans in to kiss her, but it doesn’t seem right, not when she’s standing there in her bare feet with her bare lips and her sparkly dress. Instead, he shrugs into his coat and heads down the walkway to the street. 

He pauses on the sidewalk in front of her house and watches as Phryne shuts the door. After a moment, she flickers the porch light off and on, almost as if to say good night again. Jack chuckles to himself as he walks back to his car. He has no doubt that she’ll be back to herself in no time.


End file.
